Lucy said into the phone. “She says this is the first time this has happened to her.”
Next the dispatcher wanted to know if there was aspirin available. “Chewable, if possible.”
Lucy had none. She bit back a groan. At that moment, she almost wished she’d had valve-replacement surgery rather than repair. With an artificial valve, she just might have been on an aspirin regimen and could have whipped a bottle right out of her purse. Then again, she probably would have been on warfarin or...
Dear Lord, what did it matter? The point was she had no aspirin to give Viviana.
She asked Viv, “Do you have any aspirin?”
Viv gestured weakly toward the open door to her apartment. “Master bathroom cabinet...”
Her phone to her ear, Lucy raced inside and down the hall. In the gorgeous retro pink-and-black-tiled bathroom, she found what she needed. “Got them,” she told the dispatcher. She grabbed the bottle off the shelf and read the label. “They’re the regular kind, not chewable, 325 milligrams.”
“Are they timed release, the coated ones?”
“No, the chalky white ones.”
“That’s better than coated.”
“Wonderful. Perfect.” Lucy ran back down the hall and out the door to Viv’s side again.
The dispatcher gave her more instructions.
Lucy put the phone on speaker, knelt by Viv to set it down on the floor and then shook out one aspirin. She put her arm around Viv. “You need to chew this for thirty seconds before you swallow it. Can you do that for me, Viv?”
Panting, softly moaning, alternately clutching her chest and rubbing her shoulder, Viv managed a nod. Lucy gave her the pill and counted out the seconds as Viv chewed. It seemed the longest half minute of her life. “All right. Swallow.”
Once Viv had the aspirin down, Lucy picked up the phone again. The dispatcher stayed on the line with her, asking questions that Lucy answered as best she could, all the while holding Viv’s hand—the one that wasn’t tightly clutched to her chest.
After what seemed like forever but was probably no more than the five or six minutes the dispatcher had said it would be, they heard a siren coming on fast, stopping at full volume downstairs in front of the building. Lucy spoke gently, reassuringly, to Viv, who reluctantly let go of her hand so she could step inside the open door to the apartment again and buzz in the paramedics. Endless moments later the elevator doors slid open and two EMTs wheeled their EMS stretcher straight to Viv.
They were just assessing her airway, breathing and circulation and hooking her up to oxygen when Dami came flying down the stairs wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans, with Quentin right behind him.
Dami’s face was dead white. “Luce. My God. I heard the siren and I thought...”
She dropped her phone into her purse again, eased around the busy med techs and went to him. “It’s not me. Oh, Dami, it’s Viv....” He grabbed her against his broad bare chest and she thought how very glad she was to have his arms around her at a time like this.
“What happened?” he asked against her hair.
“She had a heart attack, I think.” Lucy looked up at him, drew strength from the simple act of gazing at his dear worried face. “The signs are all there—and I doubt they’ll let me ride along in the ambulance with her, but I need to go with her, be with her. Her family’s not in New York.”
“I’ll call for a car.”
“Miss.” One of the EMTs signaled Lucy. “She’s asking for you....”
Dami released her and she went to Viv, who panted out a series of instructions about looking after her place, about getting her little red address book from the drawer beneath the phone and calling her daughters. “And my purse... Insurance card...”
Lucy ran back into the apartment and snatched the large brown shoulder bag from the end of the kitchen counter. One of the EMTs took it from her. She bent close to Viv again and tried to reassure her. “I’m here. I’ll take care of all of it, and I’ll be following you straight to the hospital....”
“Sweet girl, God bless you....” Viv clutched for her hand again, but the EMTs were already wheeling her toward the open elevator doors.
Lucy called after them, “What hospital?”
One of them told her. They got on the elevator. The doors slid shut. Lucy stared at those doors, suddenly immobilized, images of all the times she’d been the one on the stretcher pounding in strobe-like flashes through her mind.
And then Dami was there, wrapping his big arms around her.
She clung to him. “We have to get going,” she said, and then she just stood there, holding him tight, safe in the circle of his embrace.
He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “The car will be here in a few minutes.”
“Oh, Dami...” The tears were pushing, trying to get out to turn into a flood that would surely drown her. She bit the inside of her cheek, drawing blood. That did it. The sharp pain brought her back to herself.
He kissed her temple. “Get your coat. Lock up both apartments. I’ll run up and put the rest of my clothes on and be right down for you.”
* * *
Once they were in the limousine and on the way, Lucy called Viv’s daughters to break the frightening news.
Marleah burst into tears. Shoshona was calm and thoughtful and then at the end said, “Oh, my sweet Lord. Just let her make it through....”
Lucy told both daughters that Viv had been conscious and still able to talk when they took her away. She promised she would be there until they had her stabilized, all the while sending silent prayers to heaven to match Shoshona’s spoken one: Please, God, let her make it. Let her pull through. She gave them her number and promised to call them the minute she knew anything more. They both said they would call the hospital right away and be there as soon as they could make arrangements.
When she hung up, Dami reached for her. She unhooked her seat belt, slid across the wide plush seat and settled next to him.
“We’re almost there,” he promised.
She rested her head on his shoulder and kept on praying that Viv would pull through.
* * *
Six hours later they were still sitting in the waiting area outside Cardiac Intensive Care, with Quentin standing guard a few feet away.
A doctor came out to talk to them.
They had Viv stabilized, he said, and the prognosis was good. They’d put her through the usual endless battery of tests and performed an angioplasty with stent placement. The angioplasty opened the nearly blocked artery that had caused Viv’s heart attack, and the stent, a small mesh tube inserted at the same time, would keep the artery open.
Even though she wasn’t family,
